How Frightening, That One Person Could Mean

The Bird With The Thorn In Its Breast, It Follows An Immutable Law; It Is Driven By It Knows Not What To Impale Itself, And Die Singing. At The Very Instant The Thorn Enters There Is No Awareness In It Of The Dying To Come; It Simply Sings And Sings Until There Is Not The Life Left To Utter Another Note. But We, When We Put The Thorns In Our Breasts, We Know. We Understand. And Still We Do It. Still We Do It.

I Think Explicit Love Scenes Are A Turn Off Unless It's The Kind You Read With One Hand.

Yet There's Something Ominous About Turning Sixty-five. Suddenly Old Age Is Not A Phenomenon Which Will Occur; It Has Occurred.

Perfection, In Anything, Is Unbearably Dull. Myself, I Prefer A Touch Of Imperfection.

My Husband Says It Is Very Good That I Have Very Tiny Feet, Because They're Easier To Get In My Mouth.